


Dolls

by sweetpeachy



Category: Alexander Hamilton - Ron Chernow, Hamilton - Miranda, Hamilton - Miranda (Broadway Cast) RPF
Genre: Angst, John is kidnapped, Lams - Freeform, M/M, Onesided, Pills, Smut, alex is crazy, insane, john is a doll, stockholmesyndrome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-06 07:49:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17341454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetpeachy/pseuds/sweetpeachy
Summary: Stock·holm syn·dromenounfeelings of trust or affection felt in certain cases of kidnapping or hostage-taking by a victim toward a captor.John is Alex's perfect little dolly...WARNING: mentions of insanity, Stockholm syndrome, sex, lust, belittling, murder, and lots and lots of ANGST





	1. Chapter 1

John's P.O.V 

 

Long socks. Pigtails. Short skirts. 

 

This has been my world for the past year.

 

My window is sealed with prison bars, making it impossible for me to escape. Not that I'd ever want to leave the Dream House. Not anymore...

My room is a hot pink mess. It looks like Barbie threw up on it and then took a rainbow princess mega shit on it. Pink, pink, pink...

Alexander is bat-shit insane. Only, he doesn't color the walls with blood or scream at himself in the mirror. In fact, he passes in public as a regular person. I don't know exactly where he works, but it's obvious he makes good money. 

I'm allowed to roam all around the dream house and do anything I please. 

Besides escape. 

The first 6 months, I tried to escape any way I could. I'd try to bust the windows, slip through the door when he was walking out, I've even attempted to sweet talk my way out of it. But the doors were on major lockdown and I couldn't even open them from the inside. He had the key. 

That was stage one. Denial. 

I refused to eat after that. I'd cry myself to sleep - if I even slept. I was hoping to guilt him into setting me free, but he was going to let me starve to death if I didn't give in. 

I finally ate. I hated myself for it, but I finally did. 

I now have a strict diet. I'm not allowed to have junk food or sodas at all. Alex says it will ruin my "perfect doll figure" whatever that means. 

He makes me put on makeup everyday. Being an artist, I don't really mind, but the principle behind being forced to do it pisses me off. 

My hair is left to him. He brushes it every morning before work and styles it anyway he likes it. Same goes for the clothes. I'm his 'doll'. 

 

I sigh as I look out the window, staring out at the bleakness of the weather. I haven't gone outside in so long...

I've come to acceptance that there's no escape to this prison. There's no sweetening my way out of it or planning a grand master-escape. 

The house is huge and very easy to get lost in. There's a spa room, a game room, a movie theatre, there's guest beds, and even a room dedicated to clothes. A closet can't fit it all. 

I remember the first week here, I threw a fit. I tore the skirts up, threw the makeup, and trashed my room. 

Alexander was furious. The thing about him, though, is that he doesn't yell or throw things when he's angry. He barely even batted an eye before bending me over his knee and spanking me. 

I sobbed for hours and even called him insane, warning a "timeout" where he locked me in a room for an hour. 

I hear the sound of a door opening and I immediately get up, walking downstairs to greet him as I was taught to do. 

"Hello Daddy." I say, blinking. This is what I've become. I've succumbed to this life, though I'm not proud of it. This is who I am now and this is the life I live. 

 

"Hi Princess" he grins, walking into the house and hanging up his coat. "Why is your bow out of your hair?" 

 

I freeze and blink. Fuck. I forgot to put it back in. 

"It fell" I shrug.

He grunts and immediately begins getting out ingredients for supper. 

"What's for dinner?" I ask softly. "Can I help?" 

"No." He shakes his head. "Go find something to do." 

I sigh softly. He never lets me help him do anything. I feel so useless here all alone doing nothing. I'm not allowed to clean, cook, or do any sort of chore. Because that gives me dependency. And he needs me to rely on him. 

I've figured out his games and antics long ago, though I've yet to find a way out of them. 

I grab a book and open it up, though I don't read. I sit on the couch and watch him. Sometimes at night, I hear him whimpering. He calls for his Mama, but where she is now, I could not say. 

I almost feel bad for the guy. I mean, he seriously needs medical attention, but I'm not about to risk my life telling him that. 

"It's ready!" He calls. 

I walk over and gracefully sit in my seat. He trained me on "table manners" on our very first evening together. Sit up straight, napkin in your lap, and take tiny bites. 

In the bowl in front of me is a vegetable stew. Typical. 

I sip as if I'm poisoned, and knowing him, I very well could be. 

"You're so pretty" he whispers, smiling a bit. At a glance, you'd never think there was anything wrong with him. He's a great actor. But once you get inside his head...Oh, that's a battlefield...

"Tell me more about your childhood" I whisper as he takes a sip of his water. 

"Maybe later" he says, shaking his head. He has to be in the mood to share those things with me. Despite how ridiculous and cruel he is, his childhood is actually quite interesting. All I know is that he was poor and grew up on an island called Nevis. 

I look at him. He's got dark, shoulder-length hair and broad shoulders. Despite the pastel-Barbie vibe the house has going on, he actually dresses pretty normal in a formal work suit. 

 

 

 

 

I close my eyes as I sit on the bed and let him brush my long, curly hair. I bite my lip softly. I'm used to it by now, but I still dread it. 

I'm dressed in a purple nightie. I'm not allowed to have "normal" pajamas as that wouldn't be very "doll-like" as Alexander puts it. 

"Daddy loves you." He whispers, kissing my cheek and tucking me in. 

I don't say it back. 

He turns the light off as I snuggle into the warm pink sheets and close my eyes. I have nothing to think about or ponder. This is my life. 

I close my eyes almost instantly. 

 

 

"Mmm.." I toss and turn in bed. 

Mama...Papa...! 

I sit up in a cold sweat, panting and breathing heavily. I'm sobbing and I can't stop. This doesn't happen very often, but it hasn't come to a stop either. 

I bury my face in my hands and let out a loose sob until the door shoots open and the light is turned on. 

"Baby?" Alexander asks. "What's wrong...?" 

"Bad dream..." I whisper. At least I'm telling the truth. 

"Come here..." he whispers holding me in his arms. 

That's when I puke all over the both of us. I cry even harder, sitting in a puddle of puke. 

He looks like he wants to gag, or better yet, puke as well, but he finally picks me up and sighs. 

"Let's get cleaned up. Tomorrow, I'll start you on some new pills." 

"New pills?" I ask softly. 

"Don't worry about it, baby. Don't you even worry." 

Oh, I'm worrying.


	2. Chapter 2

John’s P.O.V 

 

Daddy’s painting my nails...he takes the tiny Brody and stroked with such precision. Not once have I ever felt the nail polish graze the flesh on my fingers. 

That’s how good he is. 

FFB6C1 Light Pink. I’d recognize this shade anywhere. Pink is the only color Daddy allows me to have. God forbid I ask for green or blue or even clear. 

“Let them dry” he orders, getting up and making his way over to the pantry. He uses his key to unlock it, since I’m not allowed to get it. He has a lot of things in the Dream House locked up. 

“What do you want?” He asks. 

“Lucky Charms!” 

“Nope. You only eat the marshmallows. You’ll waste it.” 

“But I want Lucky Charms!” 

“No.” 

I sigh. “Cinnamon Toast Crunch?” 

“Good boy.” He smiles softly, grabbing a bowl and preparing it for me. He pours have a bowl and a little bit of skim milk. I hate skim milk, but Daddy says I’ll get fat with regular. 

I’d rather be fat than starve at this fucking place. 

I eat slowly as he purrs from behind me. “So pretty...” He coos. “Daddy’s perfect little dolly.” 

I lean into him, and I hate myself for doing it. But I’m not a real doll. I’m a human. He’s the only source of human contact I’ve had in weeks, and as much as I hate myself for giving in to him, I crave his warmth and touch. 

Damn, I’m fucked up. 

“Finished?” He asks, holding up my bowl. 

I nod. 

“No you’re not. Drink the milk.” 

“But I don’t want the milk.” 

“Drink. The. Milk.” 

I shake my head. I know what he’s done to it. He’s put crushed-up sedatives in them so I sleep the majority of the day away while he’s at work. He underestimates me and he knows it, too. I’m smarter than him. I just have less power. 

He immediately storms to the fridge, unlocks it, and takes out the carton of milk. He then grabs a baby bottle from the pantry and pours it in. 

“You win.” He growls. “You can drink un-touched milk. But that means I’m gonna have to call a babysitter for you. When Daddy says to drink your milk, you drink it.” 

I don’t see what the point is in making me drink it now if it doesn’t have sedatives. But maybe it’s a power thing. He needs me to listen to him. It’s what he craves. And he’s gonna force me to either way. 

He leads me to the sofa, cradles me in his lap like a baby, and shoves the bottle in my mouth. I struggle a bit, but soon give in and suck on the nipple. I know he’d just get angry if I didn’t. 

“Good babydoll...” He whispers, stroking my matted, tangly hair. It was brushed last night, 100 meticulous strokes on each side, but it’s so long and curly that it looks like a rat’s nest the next morning. 

“My sweet American Boy Doll...” he praises. “Such a rare beauty. Not many people even know you exist.” 

That’s because you keep me hidden here playing your stupid games I want to snap back. 

I suck on the nipple of the bottle, draining the last few drops as he sings a lullaby to me in French. He’s trying to lull me to sleep without the sedatives, but I’m still wide awake. 

He picks me up, his hand right under my ass. He leads me upstairs and begins to strip me down to my panties. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before. I’m not shy. This isn’t new territory. 

He takes my panties off and replaces them with new ones. Pink and lacy. He dresses me in thigh-high socks, a pink skirt, and a matching ruffled top. 

He then grabs a comb and begins brushing my hair. He’s very gentle. Not once has he tugged or pulled out of frustration. I’m not tender-headed anyway, but he just purrs and goes on. 

He puts my hair in two curly pigtails. Then, he grabs my makeup from the vanity and begins working. 

He usually makes me do it on my own, but on rare occasions, he’ll work his magic on me. I’m assuming he went to some sort of cosmology school, that’s the only way he could be so meticulous. 

Daddy doesn’t talk much about his past.

Me? I’m an artist. Well, I wanted to be. I had a full-ride scholarship to study in Switzerland. I was the valedictorian of my class and some teachers even nicknamed me “Van Gogh” due to my art skills. 

Now that’s all gone down the drain. 

Now I’m one sad work of his art that he’ll never show to the world. 

My foundation color has changed drastically since I first got here. Where my skin was once a lively tan color, it’s now a sick porcelain. Daddy keeps the two bottles right next to each other just to show how powerless I really am. 

He makes me take vitamins so I stay healthy, but I really don’t think there’s any substitute for sunlight. 

Or love, for that matter. 

“Such a pretty boy...” he whispers, doing my lipstick and smiling softly. 

When he finally finishes, he leaves me in the room to make a few calls. 

He finally comes back and picks me up. “Your babysitter will be here soon. Are you gonna behave for him?” 

I nod as he picks up my stuffed elephant, forcing me to hold it. I cuddle with it just to appease it. 

He leads me back to the couch and cradles me as I snuggle into the elephant and babble happily. 

It’s all an act. It’s like giving a kid at the grocery store candy so they don’t start screaming and hollering and throw a fit in front of everyone. I’m appeasing him so he doesn’t throw a fit. 

When Daddy’s not happy, no one in the world is happy. That’s a fact. 

In fact, when I refused to do something one time, Daddy started making phone calls and firing people from his business. He didn’t care who they were. 

I was costing innocent people their jobs. How selfish of me not to obey. He’s got this drilled into my head. 

He rubs my thigh and smiles. “I think you’re more of a babydoll than a Barbie doll today. I’ll make sure Thomas knows to put you in the second floor today.” 

 

The second floor. The baby floor. Bottles and rattles and cribs and play pens. 

I want to tell him no, that being a doll is bad enough, and that being regressed is even worse, but then I remember that I’m not allowed to decide how I’m feeling or what I am. 

He decides that for me. 

He rubs my thighs longer as I stare up at him. Some part of me expects him to suddenly realize what a monster he’s become and immediately free me. But I know that would never happen. 

What’s the point in making wishes anymore? 

He cradles me and presses a soft kiss against more forehead. His lips are chapped and I’d love to prescribe him with some Karmex, but that would probably piss him off. 

The doorbell rings and he picks me up, cradling me as he goes to open it. 

I look over to see that it’s a tall, dark-skinned man with poofy black hair. He has a plastic bag filled with stuffed animals and pacifiers. 

“Hey, Jefferson. Thanks for offering to look after John today. He’s been awfully naughty this morning and I don’t think I can trust him home alone.” 

“Aww, he’s precious” Jefferson reaches for me and Daddy hands me right over. 

I know what I have to do. I have to play the part. Or else. 

I babble and coo happily, touching hair hair. 

“He’s so tiny” Jefferson grins. 

“He is.” Daddy agrees, grabbing his cup of coffee. “I’ll be back later, Prince. Draw a pretty picture for Daddy while he’s away.” 

With that, he kisses my forehead sweetly and leaves. 

 

 

 

“What cartoons do you like?” Thomas asks me, laying down on the couch as I scribble in the coloring book. 

I know that “coloring” will make me get points in Daddy’s favor since I’m acting like what he wants me to be. 

I ignore Thomas. 

“Kitten, I believe I asked you a question.” 

“I dunno.” I shrug. 

“Do you need to go night-night?” He asks sternly. “I’ll put you in your crib.” He warns. 

I shake my head and crawl into his lap, trying to prove that I do not need to go into that thing. Alex - Daddy put me in there for hours and hours at a time once after I cursed him out. 

I couldn’t help but notice how much the bars looked like the ones in prisons. 

Thomas cradles me and coos. He then reaches a hand up my skirt and begins tugging on my panties. 

“No...” I whisper. 

“Yes...” he whispers back. 

No. 

Not even Daddy has touched me like that before. No one touches me like that unless I give permission. Even to Daddy. That was the one ounce of freedom he gave me. 

And I’m not letting anybody take that way from me. 

I get up and immediately start to run when I realize I’m being chased.

I run around the house, making sure not to trap myself upstairs. I know that I know this house better than he does and that I could easily hide, but he’ll be here for hours and it’s only a matter of time before he’s fine me. 

I run around the couch and grab the plastic bag, dumping all the toys and baby things out as he trips over a stuffed rhinoceros. 

As the tall man falls to the floor, I straddle his back and pull the plastic bag over his head. 

He struggles and tries to grab my legs, but I kick his arm and keep the bag over him. 

 

Within about a minute, I feel his body go limp beneath me. 

He’s dead. 

I pull the plastic bag off of him and stare at his lifeless face proudly. I spit on it and smirk. 

That’s the fifth babysitter I’ve killed within the past 6 months. 

I’m not helpless. I’ve done away with plenty of people who’ve tried to touch me. 

And I feel zero remorse. 

I’ve let the kind ones live. Lafayette, Aunt Peggy, Eliza...they never tried to touch me like that. They’re doing just fine. 

But people like Thomas...

Xoxo. 

 

 

I sit around in boredom while waiting for Daddy. I don’t even feel like trying to escape, I’m so proud of my victory. 

Suddenly, the door opens and I bolt towards it. 

“John!” Daddy grins. “Where’s your babysitter?” 

“Dead” I shrug, leaning on the couch. 

“Another one?” 

“Tried to touch me!” 

He knows I’m not lying. He knows I’m not cruel enough to hurt innocent people. Only the disgusting birches who try to take my freedom away. 

“Alright” he sighs. “I’m gonna go find a place to bury the body.” 

“Wait!” I say, grabbing the scribbled up paper from earlier. “I colored Daddy a picture!” 

He visibly melts with a soft “awww”.

“What a sweet boy” he coos, pulling me close and kissing my head. “So sweet for Daddy. In fact, I think you’ve earned a cupcake tonight after dinner.” 

With that, he takes Thomas’s limp body into the backyard and I smirk softly. 

I grab one of the pacifiers from off the carpet and hug one of the stuffies close my chest. I’m setting up the scene and getting into my character. 

Like I said, all I have to do is play the motherfucking part and I’m on Daddy’s good side. As much as I hate it, I do it anyway. 

Why? 

Because if you play the part well enough, maybe you can even convince yourself...


End file.
